


I Don't Care

by DregranEntropy



Series: Morte Silenziosa backstory [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Frotting, M/M, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9456095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DregranEntropy/pseuds/DregranEntropy
Summary: Meraviglia meets Funesto...





	

Four years ago, I killed my brother and my intended wife. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. I remember everyone I’ve killed. I’ll carry them all to the ideal world. Their deaths have meaning.

I walk into a room labelled “CIBO”. It’s one the facilities dining areas. The room is vast, beyond comprehension. The kitchen looks elongated and stretched, but is still dwarfed by the eating area. A thick wooden table is surrounded by chairs, a huge TV is mounted on the wall and a seven-piece lounge suite. A man with black hair sits facing me.

He doesn’t meet my eyes, unfocused, looking through me. He has playing cards in his hands, twirling them, flicking them, weaving them around with no effort. He’s one of the members of Morte Silenziosa. I could be working with him in the future.

I don’t really care about his name or his story. I move to the bench. There’s a cutting board beside a loaf of bread. I pull open the shelf below, finding a butter knife and recipes. I’ll make something more interesting later, right now I’m thirsty and hungry.

“Never taught manners?” The man addresses me from out of sight. I’m not going to bother replying. His voice is low pitched, stern, yet playful and with a hint of malice. He’s just the type I don’t like.

I cut the loaf. It’s still warm. I turn and open the fridge, eyeing the butter quickly.

“We should get to know each other,” he says. He’s right. If we are to work together, I should at least get to know the man I already dislike.

“Funesto.” He holds up a hand when I walk around to the table, already munching on buttered bread.

“Meraviglia,” I say, ignoring his hand and sitting down opposite. He’s still moving the cards, focused on me. His magic probably has something to do with cards, but I really couldn’t care to ask.

After a moment of silence, which I don’t mind, Funesto stands, bumping the table. He keeps his cards in hand.

“Well, if you have no interest in talking, I’m going to entertain myself. Have fun with your buttered bread.”

I don’t react, following him with my eyes and he flops back the dark blue lounge. The TV turns on, to Italian news. He flicks through channels until something erotic comes on. It’s two women lying on top of a poker table, moaning and rubbing each other. One is partially dressed in a suit, no doubt intended to be the dealer.

I get up and go back to the kitchen. After being controlled for twenty-two years, it’s a strange having to do everything for myself. I welcome the change.

Funesto turns up the volume. Loud moans echo through the empty room. I look for a pantry, walking away from the midnight porno. There’s one at the end of the row of appliances. The doors are heavier than I expect. I see some canned beans. They’ll do.

I make my back to the dining table. The porno has shifted up a gear, the dealer-dressed girl mounting the other girl, thrusting her pelvis into her. I don’t find this appealing. Even if I was interested in women, I wouldn’t enjoy plain eroticism.

I open the can... I don’t have a spoon. I stand up and start to walk back, and the TV turns off.

“You don’t like porn either?” Funesto says. His voice is flat, as if he’s serious.

I haven’t watched porn. I’ve been free of constraints for three days. I don’t know what to do with my time.

“Not really,” I lie. It’s easier to lie. Conversations are shorter, people don’t care about you, and you won’t get close to anyone.

“Liar,” he laughs. He’s quick to see through me, something I didn’t expect.

Funesto joins me in the kitchen, pulling open the utensil draw before I could reach it. He hands me a spoon, and winks. What is his deal? Whatever. I don’t care. I turn and walk back and sit at the table, scooping up some beans.

Funesto chuckles, then follows me, sitting right next to me. He’s still hold his cards.

“Are you even into women?” He’s direct.

I don’t feel like answering. I down another scoop of beans. I go for another and he grabs my hand. I sigh.

“What’s it to you?” I don’t want this conversation. I hate Funesto already. He should leave. I should leave. I pull my hand free and eat my beans.

Funesto laughs again, putting his hand on my thigh.

“Just wondering,” he smiles at me. His jaw is refined, his eyes are green, his nose larger than mine...

I turn away.

He squeezes my leg, then rubs down to my knee. I push his hand off.

“I haven’t had a chance to speak to anyone else who’s been through shit,” he says. I can’t help but face him. He’s not looking at me, facing the table. His eyes are wet, and the ends of his mouth angled downwards.

Whatever. I don’t care about his life story. I don’t care about him.

Funesto gets up, nudging me as he walks past. I hear him sob. He wipes his face on his sleeve and returns to the lounge.

Should I have said something to him? No. I don’t care. I don’t need to engage with him. I scoop up more beans to the sound of the porno coming back on.

Funesto adjusts his clothes, sliding down his pants. He just said he doesn’t like porn. I lean forward a little, to get a glimpse of what he was doing. No, I don’t care what he’s doing. I know what he’s doing, and I don’t care.

I sit back down.

“I knew you wouldn’t be game,” Funesto says. He is really annoying. I don’t need to reply to his remarks.

“Fuck off,” I retort. I really don’t care about him.

Funesto stands, letting me see his toned ass. He pulls up his pants, not looking at me, and walks to the door. He turns, scowling at me.

“You’re not special,” he says.

What?

“Did you really think you’re the only one who’s done some shit? The only one they’ve subjected to years of fucking torture?”

I don’t...

“You cried when they took you from your mother, didn’t you? Still wanted to suckle on her teat.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I stand up, dropping my spoon and some beans on the table.

“You haven’t even seen her face, have you?”

I know what my mother looks like. Maybe it’s a dream, maybe I didn’t actually see her face. But I know I have a memory of her.

Funesto goes to say something, then looks down, exhaling instead of speaking. He looks back up at me.

“I killed my mother with I was four years old. She was ‘genetically superior’. She was being used as a sex mule. If she didn’t go full term, she was beaten. If the children weren’t special, she was beaten. I slit her throat so they couldn’t have her. She was my mother.

“You see, I realised something. You should know it by now, if you’re not stupid. We were chosen at an early age to succeed. They weren’t ever going to kill us. Torture, sure. But not kill. Why? Because we’re assets.

“We are diamonds in the rough. We’re tools at their disposal. I knew I could get away with anything, and I did. You’re an idiot if you didn’t realise that, Meraviglia. Don’t...” he chokes on the last of his words.

I hadn’t thought about other groups of children. I didn’t know about Funesto.

Funesto turns away, wiping his face with his arm again.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says. “I’m going to have some real company.”

I watch him close the door without waiting for a reply. Whatever. I don’t care about what he’s going to do. I don’t care if he killed his mother and had a tough time with it. I don’t want to think about it.

I pick up my spoon. There’s beans on the table. It’s quiet. I don’t think anyone else will be joining...

I leave my mess on the table and jump onto the lounge, grabbing the remote for the TV and turning it on.

The sounds of the women moaning fills the room. There’s something... interesting about how they act. Their movements, flowing into each other, applying pressure in certain places. I’m not wearing underwear, just loose shorts, so I pull them off, already aroused.

I close my eyes, imagining I’m lying on the table, and someone is standing over me, penetrating me. He has dark hair, green eyes, and a refined jaw...

* * *

I’m sitting naked on the lounge gripping my dick. There’s semen on my chest and the cushions. I muted the TV, but the porno is still playing. Neither of them have reached orgasm yet. I reached mine in less than 30 minutes.

It’s the first time I’ve done this. I’ve had thoughts about Lorenzo my childhood, but I didn’t act upon them. I’ve released the fire from within, tension I didn’t know was there.

I can’t help thinking about Funesto grabbing my thigh. At the time, it wasn’t erotic, but now... My dick throbs, tightening my grip. I lean back and close my eyes, a sensation of sparks lurking at the bottom of my shaft, threatening to explode.

My breathing is slow and heavy. I’m fatigued. I want to go again. I keep my eyes closed, thinking of Funesto. His features are so similar to Lorenzo’s...

I motion my hand up and down my erection, taking it steady. I’m so close to the edge, I should draw this out.

I picture Funesto kissing me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I imitate his actions, licking the air. He slides a hand down my stomach, rubbing my muscles. He finds my dick and...

Ah! I ejaculate, having increased my speed in the moment. More semen oozes out, covering my hand and groin. I take three deep breathes, still jerking.

This is amazing. I haven’t felt so pleased before. One more... one more fantasy. I enter my dream again, Funesto’s hand over mine. He slows my speed, kissing me again. He keeps kissing me and jacking me off...

I’m almost at breaking point again when the door opens. If the TV wasn’t muted, I wouldn’t have heard it. Funesto disappears from my dream as I open my eyes, sitting forwards on the longue, hand still firmly around my raging erection.

I don’t turn to look who entered. My heart is racing. My cheeks feel hot. My forearms and back start to ache.

I hear laughter, then a familiar voice says, “You couldn’t hold it in, huh?”

It’s Funesto. He’s back from wherever he went. He sits down next to me, and I look away. Am I... embarrassed?

“It’s ok,” he says to me, close to my left ear. One arm reaches around my back and lands on my right shoulder, the other joins my hand around my shaft...

“Easy,” he says, leaning me back so I’m lying back on the lounge again.

He frees his right arm and takes my hand away from my dick. He’s careful how he places it next to me. His left hand jerks me with slow motions. I look at him, and he meets my gaze with a smile. I don’t care anymore.

I don’t care if I hate him. I close my eyes, and focus on not coming right now.

Funesto lets go, so I open my eyes and lean forward. He undresses, and I see he’s erect. He puts his left leg over both of mine, and then sits on my lower thighs. He grabs both of our dicks and rubs them together.

He moves them sideways, in opposite directions. I have to close my eyes again and focus. His touch is gentle, and his own erection against mine feels so warm. He’s fire and I’m firewood being heated up, refusing to ignite.

Funesto bends our dicks around each other, still only using one hand. His other hand rubs my chest, his thumb massaging one of my nipples. He starts to motion up and down, slow at first, masturbating both of us at once.

His hand rubs my neck, reaching my mouth. I open and let his magic fingers play with my tongue...

My whole body tenses, I thrust against Funesto’s hand and his dick, I push out my chest and I ejaculate. It’s unlike before. This ignition flows through my whole body, my nipples grow hard, my dick pulses, my butt clenches. More semen shoots out. It lands on my stomach.

I open my eyes, taking huge breathes. Funesto is smiling at me, still jerking us, keeping the pace slow. He takes his hand out my mouth and puts it in his own, licking off my saliva. I don’t know if I can go again...

I start to speak, but Funesto shakes his head.

“I won’t force you,” he says.

I close my eyes, tiredness taking over. I feel secure under his gaze, like a fire under a cool night breeze...

Funesto gets off me. He sits next to me, puts a hand on my chest, and leans his head on my shoulder. I’m so tired that I don’t care to stop myself from meeting his hand at my chest, linking my fingers with his.


End file.
